a tale of two assassins (and one who left)
by felicitiedsmoak
Summary: Laurel's missing and Team Arrow's too busy fending off Slade and his Mirakuru army to search for her. Sara turns to the only other person that's left - who happened to be the same person whose heart she broke.
1. Chapter 1

"You know you don't have to do this, Sara. We'll find a way."

Sara hated the pacifying timbre in Oliver's voice. Sometimes she wondered if he ever saw her as anything apart from being "Laurel's little sister". Well, _Laurel's little sister_ saw more horrors in six years than _Laurel_ ever would. She didn't need to be coddled.

She spun around, blue eyes blazing with righteous indignance. "And what would that be? We've been hiding out here for days, just waiting for the Mirakuru soldiers to storm in and ravage this place. Laurel's on a clock, Ollie. If it was Thea in her place, I'm willing to bet that you would do whatever it takes to bring her back. So don't act all level-headed and rational and tell me to calm down and re-think my options."

Oliver averted her gaze. She was right. When Slade took Thea, he had almost lost his mind due to worry. For almost a week he had worked on nothing but pure adrenaline, consuming little sleep and little nourishment. He wasn't in a place to admonish Sara on her methods to save her sister. He just hoped that she could see her plan for what it was worth - a suicidal one.

"Doesn't mean that I have to be comfortable with it."

Sara stilled, and felt a tiny twinge of guilt. Oliver was just trying to help, and she lashed out at him. They might not be together anymore, but she knew that he cared deeply for her and had her back no matter what.

"And I love you for that, I really do. But right now, if you're to have any chance at all in saving the city, it's going to have to be your sole focus. No distractions."

"Are you sure about this, Sara? Because the last thing I remember was you willing to kill yourself in order to leave the League."

"If it meant saving my sister, then yes," Sara responded brusquely.

Oliver let out a frustrated huff, running his fingers through his short, cropped hair. "I guess there's no way to persuade you to stay, then." He considered leaning in for a hug but settled for a hand on her shoulder. "Just... Be careful."

"Always."

"If it makes you feel better, I've designed this sonar tracking device that'll fit on the underside of one of your jacket's buttons." Felicity chimed in. "You won't even know that it's there. Which means that the League probably won't know it's there. Which also means that your chances of being skewered into a kebab are next to none. Basically, it emits a pulse from the transmitter to the one of the four receivers, which then re-routes the signal to one of the Pentium processors here in the Foundry. So what I'm saying is that I'll be able to find you no matter where you're at. Even if you're on a mountain. Not that Nanda Parbat's on a mountain. But you did say it got chilly there so I just assumed it's on a mountain. And I know that you're not supposed to say where it is, but still. I wanted to try. You never know when you might get lucky."

Sara couldn't help but burst out in laughter. Trust Felicity's babbling to make its appearance at the most inappropriate of times. But Sara was thankful that it took some of the tension off the inevitable goodbye. She hated goodbyes. Mostly because they always managed to elude her. She didn't have a chance at it before she was marooned on the island. And also before she fled Nanda Parbat for Starling City.

"You're cute. Thank you."

"You're welcome. And Sara…" Felicity's usual spry self was replaced by something uncharacteristically sombre. "Promise me you'll come back."

Sara paused. She knew that what she was doing was a huge gamble, and she didn't want to keep any promises she couldn't keep. The IT expert had been nothing but kind to her here in the Foundry. She had never been a girl's girl, but it was different with Felicity. Sara could never get enough of her incoherent rambling. She knew Felicity got annoyed by her lack of brain-mouth filter sometimes, but Sara found it endearing. She would miss her. And Oliver. And Diggle, who was always there with little nuggets of wisdom whenever she needed it. Even Roy, who was skulking at the back because he didn't know what to say, but she knew he was as worried as the others.

Sara took a deep breath, thinking of something that would assuage their fears without having to resort to pandering. She settled with an "I'll try", which seemed to satisfy Felicity. Shrugging on her leather jacket and making sure that her daggers and mask were safely hidden in the inner pockets, Sara gave Felicity a quick hug and left the Foundry. She just hoped that it wouldn't be her last time.

-/-

So maybe heading towards Nanda Parbat without a concrete plan in place was a rash decision. She had intended to come up with one during the trip there, but the ascension up the mountain proved to be easier than expected, and soon she found herself standing on its zenith. The hard part came after that. Sara was searching for someone. But she had no idea how she could find that person without being slaughtered by hundreds of enraged assassins.

It wasn't long before Sara found herself standing in front of a quaint little cabin. If Laurel was here, she would wrinkle her nose at how decrepit it looked. Granted, the cabin was small, the woodwork weathered with age, and the cedar shingles on the roof were chipping at places, but it felt like home. In fact, it was home, for three years of her life. It was her own safe haven in this life of killing, where she could pretend like the world outside didn't exist; where she could pretend that "international assassin" wasn't the most impressive thing on her resume.

Sara could see Nanda Parbat far off in the distance. It was an impenetrable fortress, complete with an elaborate assemblage of domes and minarets towering over the entire city. The thick fog did nothing to dull its grandeur. The occasional ray of sunlight glinted off the pillars carved out of solid gold, which supported the double-eaved roof that was painted a blood red, with intricate carvings running down its ridges. A three-tiered white marble terrace elevated the main halls, with only a long flight of granite stairs connecting it to the open courtyard. Guards were positioned at every entrance, and the place was fortified by wooden stakes lining its perimeter that looked more than capable of impaling anyone that tried to slip past it. Not that anyone would survive if they managed to. Nanda Parbat was home to the world's most deadly assassins, and Ra's al Ghul, the leader of them all, was possibly the most dangerous man ever to grace the face of the earth.

Sara sighed. It was cold, she was tired, and she didn't have a plan. Great.

Sara thought that the best course of action would be to seek refuge before she turned into a human-sized slab of ice. Which was completely possible, considering how she was so underdressed for the chilly weather. She mentally berated herself for not dressing warmer. It was so typical of her, to rush straight at everything headfirst without taking the consequences into account. One of the many downsides that came with her impetuous personality.

The cabin looked abandoned enough. Gingerly, she twisted the doorknob and couldn't stop the smile that escaped her lips when she heard the welcoming groan of the hinges against her weight. She remembered being so irked by that noise that she once spent a good half a day attempting to oil those rusted old things. It didn't work. Sara was thankful that it didn't. It was familiar, and right now, familiar was something foreign to her.

Looking around, Sara noticed that the place looked exactly the same, albeit a little dustier. She strode over to the kitchenette and sifted through the drawers, smiling fondly when she came across an assortment of porcelain crockery, complete with cutlery, plates and bowls. All of them were all white with a blue trimming running along the edges, and a blue phoenix was embellished in the centre. Sara bought them at a roadside stall on one of her earlier assignments in Beijing. She was thoroughly enthralled with the Chinese culture and took a particular shine to the legend of the phoenix. Fèng huáng, it was called. She liked how the Chinese portrayed the resplendent creature. It symbolised virtue, duty, and mercy. It was everything that Sara had hoped she would never lose even though she was knee-deep in this ruthless tirade of killing.

She continued walking around the parlour, pausing every now and then to fiddle with a few trinkets. Each one of them had a story to tell. The Matryoshka dolls lined up along the windowsill were from an assignment in Russia, where Sara bought them off a peddler, a girl no older than ten. She had gotten the tiny glass bottle of myrrh beside the dolls from India, where she had received it as a thank-you from an elderly merchant. The League had dealt with the infamous warlord Pyat Pree, who was tyrannising the common folk for money, or sex. Sara let out a bittersweet smile. She knew that there was plenty of red in her ledger, but she had hoped that by occasionally doing something that held a semblance of good, some of it would be wiped out.

Even so, the killings had weighed on her conscience, and with each subsequent kill, she felt increasingly bogged down by guilt. It was asphyxiating, like a slowly-tightening noose around her neck.

It wasn't so much of the killings as the reason behind the killings. Onboard the Amazo, she tortured and killed prisoners because Ivo had instructed her to. She couldn't risk incurring his wrath, since he was the sole reason why she wasn't locked up in a cage to be used as another potential experimentation. On Lian Yu, she had put bullets through the heads of countless mercenaries. There was no lack of blood on her hands. But she had done all that in order to survive.

It wasn't that different with the League, to be honest. She was bound by League law to perform her duties, to obliterate anyone that stood in the way of her and her target. Sometimes, her instructions were to obtain information. Those were the worst. Anyone was fair game - sons, daughters, spouses.

Once, she had been sent on an assignment to St. Petersburg. Her target was an affluent Russian businessman in his late thirties who was neck-deep in business with the mob. Sara had read his file. Human trafficking, money laundering, embezzlement - he had a hand in all of them. She had no qualms on resorting to torture on someone involved in such nefarious activities, but still, he had refused to give up information on their leader.

Just then his three year old daughter had walked into the room, complaining that his cries were too loud for her to sleep. It was then that Sara realised there was only one way for him to talk, and that wasn't to break his bones - but his spirit. Eventually, she had the information she needed, but also the blood of an innocent child on her hands.

Sara hated that life, but she didn't have much of a choice. It was either that, or death. It was for survival, too.

But yet, it was different. She no longer lived in constant fear of being killed in her sleep. She no longer lived in constant fear that one misstep could blast her entire body into nothingness. She no longer lived in constant fear that one day, she might lose the favour of a psychopathic scientist and become the next subject of his experimentations. Instead of a paltry bunk or a damp cavern, she slept on a featherbed lined with satin sheets. How could she live in such opulence and still justify that as survival? How could she allow herself to be happy and receive love when she was the reason why so many families were left broken?

The sound of her own teeth chattering pulled Sara out of her reverie. She was so wrapped up in her nostalgia-fuelled reminisce that she forgot about the chilly winds that were threatening to put her out of commission. She could feel herself losing sensation in her fingers and toes. She would be damned if she had travelled all the way here only to succumb to frostbite.

Sara spied the axe in the corner, lodged between two loose floorboards. She swallowed. She was the one who had left it there. So it hadn't been moved for the last few months. Maybe she did have to go to Nanda Parbat after all.

Picking up the axe, Sara left to chop up firewood. After passing by a couple of trees that looked too frail for the job, she spotted a few evergreens that looked sturdy enough. Positioning both feet firmly on the ground, she swung the axe, felling one of them in a few blows. She made quick work of the others. Gathering the fallen logs, she started making her way back as the first snowflake fell, with its sinewy tendrils of ice. Then another, and another. Soon, the earthen ground was painted an ebony white. Sara exhaled deeply. She had spent her last snowfall here at Nanda Parbat, and back then, she had thought that would be her last. She didn't know if she was happy to be back, or scared, or both. Everything was just an amalgamation of emotions, and Sara didn't want to reconcile them. She didn't know if she could.

From the corner of her eye, Sara thought she saw a fleeting glimpse of movement; a flash of black amongst acres of forest. Squinting through the billowing gusts of wind, she searched for a potential intruder but found none. She chalked it up to the fog playing tricks on her eyes and continued trudging back to the cabin, paying no heed to mask her heavy footfalls as the howl of the wind took care of that.

Upon reaching the cabin, Sara fumbled with the doorknob, her numb fingers refusing to cooperate. Cursing under her breath, she freed her hands from the firewood and succeeded in getting the door open. She bent over and haphazardly chucked the pieces into the cabin one after another when she heard a dull metallic crunch that sounded like the heel of a boot meeting wood.

Sara slowly tilted her head upwards, diverting her attention away from the logs to the source of the noise.

She wasn't alone.

There was someone else standing beside the fireplace.

"Nyssa," she breathed.

-/-

A/N: And I'm done with the first chapter of this fic! Comments? I'd love to hear what you guys think!

Also, did anyone catch the subtle Game of Thrones/The Avengers reference? ;)


	2. Chapter 2

The gossamer veil shielding the lower half of her face fluttered in the wind, and the light emanating from the fire glinted off her unblemished porcelain skin. Sara knew that was possibly the only unmarred portion of her body; she had seen the angry, jagged scars that peppered Nyssa's arms, back, and torso. She used to trace them over with her fingertips as they lay in Nyssa's bed. Nyssa was hesitant at first. She didn't like exposing them to another person. She thought that they made her weak. Sara scoffed at the incredulity of Nyssa's fears and said that there wasn't any power on earth could make the Heir to the Demon look weak. She just turned to Sara and looked her squarely in the eyes. Words weren't necessary; Nyssa's gaze spoke volumes. _You do._

She looked exactly as Sara remembered, regal and poised as always – or as Sara used to tease her, the "harbinger of death".

_God, she was beautiful._

Sara watched as Nyssa's expression turned from shock, to confusion, to longing, and then finally settled on something shy of anger.

"Sara."

She could feel her body reacting instinctively to that husky rasp – her breath catching in her chest, her heart pumping wildly in trepidation or excitement – she didn't really know which.

But a part of her felt pure, unadulterated joy. There wasn't a day after she'd left where she didn't miss Nyssa. Her dalliance with Oliver confirmed that; he was nothing more than a warm body, someone she was comfortable with. When she was with him, her body ached for Nyssa's long, lithe form. She missed Nyssa's dexterous fingers lacing through her hair as they kissed. She missed Nyssa's whispering of beautiful Arabic endearments in her ear while they lay side-by-side in bed - her _habibti_, her _nur_, her _khalas_. She missed Nyssa's feather light kisses along her jaw, her collarbone – the very same person that spilt the blood of thousands was the gentlest person she ever knew.

"I didn't know if I would see you here."

"I didn't think that I would see you again, Ta-er al-Sahfer. Six months, without so much as a goodbye."

The familiarity of the nickname expelled a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

"You knew why I had to leave. This life was too much. I couldn't bear the killing anymore."

"But you know the rules. Nobody leaves the League and gets to live. Perhaps that was why rumours that the body of a blonde-haired girl adrift in the South China Sea again slipped past the walls of Nanda Parbat." Nyssa's eyes flashed in anger. "Did you actually think that I would not look for you myself? Or did your hooded green boyfriend come up with that foolish idea?"

Sara raised her chin in defiance. "It was me. I thought that it'd be easier on you knowing that I was dead. Then maybe you could move on."

She knew that she had said the wrong thing the moment those words slipped past her lips. Sara saw the change in Nyssa immediately. Her body stiffened in response, and the anger that previously clouded her eyes was completely replaced by pain.

Nyssa's voice was barely audible, but that didn't make her any less menacing. "If you thought that I could ever move on, then you never really did know me at all."

Sara didn't know how to respond to that. She knew how blinded by rage Nyssa could get when she was concerned. Once she went on an assignment to the Caracas for some drug lord running human trafficking rings. After she had dealt with him, she got carried away trying to help the victims assimilate to their new lives. She returned to Nanda Parbat a few weeks late, only to find Nyssa's private dojo in complete ruins - weapons strewn all across the floor; aerial silks hanging limply from the ceiling, tattered into shreds; bo staffs snapped cleanly in half; stained glass windows shattered. Nyssa had thought her dead.

"How do you know about Oliver, anyway?"

Nyssa chuckled in derision. "I've been monitoring your whereabouts from behind the walls of Nanda Parbat. Did you really think that I would rest well at night if I didn't know you were safe?"

"So you knew about the assassins?"

"I did. Father sent them. He sent me first, actually. But I didn't trust myself to be around you so soon after you left."

Playing with the hem of her leather jacket, Sara murmured, "It was never about leaving you, Nyssa. I needed to see my family. I needed to know that they were safe."

"Your family," the raven-haired beauty mused, a sad smile ghosting her lips. "I had hoped that you would feel for me as strongly as you feel for them, but now it has become clear that it was foolish thinking on my part."

"I did. I do." Sara faltered. "I - I still do."

"But not enough."

The sadness in Nyssa's voice broke her heart. Sara wanted nothing more than to step into Nyssa's embrace. To let Nyssa know that she considered her to be her other half, her family. But it wasn't her place anymore.

It wasn't that Sara didn't love her enough. She felt a keen sense of emptiness every morning when she woke up alone in bed. The blonde had always been an early riser. For three years of her life she had woken up to the sight of Nyssa's sleeping form. She looked so innocent, her face completely void of guile. A few locks of tousled, jet-black hair would constantly be strewn across her forehead, and Sara couldn't help but gently brush them away. The movement would cause Nyssa to stir slightly in her sleep, before a contented smile found its way to her lips. Sara found it endearing how the big, bad, self-processed Heir to the Demon was no different from any ordinary person when she slept.

When she was with Oliver, she had always left before he woke up. He had understood. Sara thought that part of him was relieved that whatever they had meant nothing to her. Far too often she had seen his gaze lingering longer than was necessary when it came to a certain blonde IT expert.

Sara didn't know how to make Nyssa understand that she couldn't love her and live with herself at the same time. Being by Nyssa's side meant staying in the League, killing for the League, and she could feel her humanity slipping away bit by bit every time she took another life. She could feel Sara Lance dying with every kill, and Ta-er al-Sahfer taking over. The Canary. Something her family wouldn't recognise. Something even she herself didn't recognise.

But she would gladly return to that life if it meant that Laurel would be safe. Her sister was one of the kindest people she knew. A little slow to forgive, but she had a good heart. Laurel was one of the few people left in Starling City that actually cared for the people. She didn't know much of what happened the six years that she was away, but she heard that Laurel had set up a legal clinic in The Glades for those who couldn't afford an attorney. If anyone deserved to survive, it was Laurel. Not her.

"Why are you here, Sara?"

Sara faltered. "I - I needed your help."

"Help?" Nyssa let out a mirthless laugh. "How desperate must you be, to have to come to me, of all people? Did your Oliver -" she spat out his name like it was a curse, "have better things to do with his time than to help his pretty new girlfriend?"

Of course Nyssa wouldn't do it. She was still angry. She had every right to be. For three whole years, Nyssa had given Sara her heart. And on the first day of the fourth year, she had left the League; left Nyssa. All Sara hoped was that Nyssa didn't turn her in to her father until Laurel was found. Ra's al Ghul had always been civil to Sara, for the sole reason of her being Nyssa's beloved. But when she broke Nyssa's heart, the civility ended, and in its place was a bounty on her head.

Sara backed away towards the door. "Forget it. This was a mistake. I'm sorry for bothering you. I won't -"

Nyssa was right beside her before she could set one foot out of the cabin, and slammed the door shut. Sara had never felt such sheer terror in a very long while. She allowed the blues of her eyes to meet with Nyssa's and what she saw made her blood run cold. What was once filled with love and adoration was replaced with something else entirely.

Sara vaguely recalled seeing that exact expression on Nyssa's face before. A member of the League had too much to drink on her third day at Nanda Parbat, and had entered her room in his drunken stupor. David Cain, he was called. She remembered him pinning her down to the mattress, laughing as she struggled futilely in his vice-like grasp. She was so weak then. "Quiet, girl," he spoke with a guttural rasp, his foul breath upon her face. "Nobody's going to hear you here." She knew that he wasn't lying. The League had no interest of what was going on in their assassins' chambers, and the walls were reinforced with vinyl and drywall.

Just as Sara was about to give up fighting came the arrow to the throat. Cain fell to the floor, choking on his own blood. Nyssa stood beside the door; bow outstretched. Her face was a perfect mask of impassiveness that gave nothing away, but her eyes betrayed her. Sara didn't think that it was possible for looks to kill, but Nyssa's eyes were filled with so much rage that she was beginning to reconsider that.

Sara had slept in Nyssa's bed ever since.

This was everything she had feared. Oliver was right. This plan was a suicide mission. What else did she expect? For Nyssa to welcome her back with open arms?

Sara mentally rebuked herself for being the same stupid, naive, ignorant little girl she had been before the island. It should've been her. Not Shado. Then all this wouldn't have happened. Slade wouldn't have become this cold-blooded killer, and Shado might have picked up her dad's mantle and join Oliver on his crusade. Slade might have even helped her. And all three of them could have looked for Laurel together.

Now here she was, asking the person who probably hated her most for help. She was going to die. Her sister was going to die. And it was her fault.

The words that slipped past Nyssa's lips next surprised her. "You don't get to appear and disappear from my life as and when you wish. What was it you wanted help with?"

And so Sara told her. Everything. About Slade, about the Mirakuru soldiers, about her reuniting with her family and then losing her sister shortly after.

She thought of her father – her strong, loving detective father. She remembered how he sank into depression after she was reported dead, how he found comfort in cheap booze and alcohol, how he shut everyone out, losing his own wife in the process. He didn't know she was still alive, and losing Laurel would mean losing both of his daughters. He couldn't take it.

"You weep, Sara Lance. Why is that?"

Sara didn't notice the single tear rolling down her own cheek. She brushed it away haphazardly, choosing to cast her gaze anywhere else but on Nyssa.

"It's nothing. I should probably go now."

Kicking aside a stray log that blocked her path, Sara attempted to barrel out of the door before she felt a hand on her wrist, gently but firmly holding her back.

"I'll help."

Sara stopped dead in her tracks.

"Really?"

Nyssa gave a curt nod and motioned for her to sit. Sara chose the ottoman, while Nyssa picked the rickety rocking chair beside the fireplace. The fact that Nyssa had picked the furthest possible spot to be from Sara did not escape her notice. She wanted nothing more than to reach out and take her hand, which was tracing idle patterns along the length of the chair arm. Instead, Sara let her hands fall limply by her side, balling her itching fingers into fists.

"You haven't been living here." Sara began, meaning for it to come out like a question, but her matter-of-fact tone made it sound like a statement.

Nyssa shook her head slightly. "This place is a constant reminder of what I have lost. Today was the first time in six months that I mustered up enough courage to set foot into this cabin. There was this… Inexplicable pull that drew me back here."

"Well, I'm glad you were here."

"I'm not sure whether I feel the same," Nyssa replied, a sad smile ghosting her lips.

Sara managed to force a smile on her face, but she felt like she had just been punched in the gut.

"Either way, thank you."

The atmosphere shifted, a palpable transformation in the room. The two of them sat in silence for a moment, basking in each other's presence. Or rather, Sara was. Nyssa just sat there, eyes vacant, face an enigmatic mask. Sara had used to be able to decode her cryptic expressions, but now she wasn't so sure. She wasn't even sure if the Nyssa that was in front of her was the same one she had left heartbroken six months ago. Sure, most of her mannerisms were hauntingly familiar, but her words were minced, and she had become so much more emotionally withdrawn. It reminded Sara a little of how Nyssa was when they first met. It had taken an interminable length of time before she had finally managed to get rid of her inherent distrust of people and fully allow herself to love. Sara just hoped that it wouldn't take that long this time around.

Moments later, Nyssa rose to leave. She paused just as she had one foot out of the doorjamb.

"I will be here tomorrow at dawn. It will not be wise to show yourself at Nanda Parbat. Father is still furious that you left without a word. I fear what he might do to you if he found you here, still alive."

Then she was gone, her cape billowing out from behind her.

Sara sighed, putting her face in her hands. It was going to be a long time before she regained Nyssa's trust again. But she was determined to try.

-/-

habibti - beloved  
nur - light  
khalas - salvation


End file.
